


Penitent

by menel



Category: Dominion (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, M/M, Not Canon Compliant
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-11-06
Updated: 2014-11-13
Packaged: 2018-02-24 07:31:49
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 9,418
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2573345
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/menel/pseuds/menel
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>During his second encounter with Furiad outside the city limits of Vega, Michael allows himself to be injured in order to force Alex to return to the city. But Michael’s injury proves to be more serious than he anticipated and Alex is thrown into jail for desertion upon their return to Vega. This story is a different take on how Alex comes to accept his destiny.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Prologue

**Author's Note:**

> Setting: Post 1x03 Broken Places 
> 
> A big shout-out goes to dodger-sister for totally enabling me in another guilty pleasure. (And providing a host of prompts to work with!)

The ambush is not wholly unexpected. Ever since Gabriel revealed his knowledge of the Chosen One, Michael has known that Alex would be a target. It was only a matter of time before Alex’s identity would be discovered by his brother. Gabriel is very resourceful. It is a trait that they share. 

No, what surprises Michael is not the ferocity of Furiad’s attack but the fact that Alex is _not_ the target. Furiad’s group descends on Michael in a circle with only a single 8-ball engaging Alex, perhaps to act as a distraction. Though he is outnumbered, Michael knows that these fallen creatures do not stand a chance against him. He briefly spares a thought for Alex’s safety (the boy can handle a single 8-ball) before he sets about dispatching Furiad’s motley crew. He is aware of Furiad standing outside of the circle, hands clasped behind his back and content to watch as his minions attempt to defeat an archangel. _The_ Archangel. The display is merely an exercise for Gabriel’s lieutenant. He is not foolish enough to think that an 8-ball could kill Michael, but perhaps they could tire him, possibly even wound him no matter how superficially. Furiad’s interest lays in Michael’s technique. It has been millennia since they fought side-by-side on the same battlefield, and yet only a few days have passed since Michael held Furiad’s life at the edge of his blades. Michael did not think the opportunity to finish the job would arise so soon, but clearly Furiad has other plans.

The Archangel’s mind never stops strategizing. As he methodically kills the 8-balls one by one, he understands that if this ambush is meant for him then Furiad is acting without his brother’s authority. Gabriel would never order something so cowardly. His brother is the master of subterfuge and deceit, but there is not a cowardly bone in his body. If Gabriel wishes him dead, then he would do the deed himself. It could not be any other way. As the last of the 8-balls falls at Michael’s feet, he turns to Furiad ready to finish what they began on the streets of Vega but something momentarily stays his hand. Through his peripheral vision, he sees Alex on the ground grappling with the 8-ball. The 8-ball is vicious but Michael’s original assessment had been correct; the creature has no intention of killing Alex. Its goal is to distract, to prevent Alex from coming to Michael’s aid or worse, to actually become embroiled in the _real_ battle.

Michael gleaned from the brief meeting with his brother that Gabriel believes that the Chosen One’s destiny lies with him, and that with Alex’s aid Gabriel would win this war and consequently, their Father would return. As preposterous as the idea would sound to Alex if he ever heard it, Michael knows that Gabriel’s beliefs are not unfounded. Destinies are not written in stone and prophecies are not self-fulfilling. Alex must still walk his own path; make his own decisions, even if the fate of humanity rests on his every move. It is a burden that Michael swore the boy would not face alone, for Alex has long been Michael’s sole purpose – his to protect and his to guide. Gabriel would usurp his place if he could and Furiad in his simple-mindedness sought to expedite that process, albeit without Gabriel’s permission. 

But Alex has chosen to run away from his destiny; foolishly thinking that to hide or to live a life removed from his fate is even possible. The boy does not realize that his actions have set him on a path to Gabriel, just as Gabriel wished. Before the arrival of Furiad and his cohorts, Michael thought that he had finally gotten through to his young charge. Bringing him to the place that was the source of Alex’s strongest childhood memories had been the right decision. Love and family were to be found here, as were tragedy and loss. Michael had learned long ago that one could not have one without the other. He is Alex’s last remaining connection to that life whether the boy realizes this or not. 

In those early years, Michael had spent his life on the road with Charlie and Jeep before Charlie’s death had eventually forced Jeep to take refuge in the rebuilding city of Vega, and for Michael to take up the mantle of Vega’s protector. Michael is not pleased with how Vega has grown into a microcosm of the corruption, politicking and injustice that is the hallmark of nearly all the human cities he has known, but he keeps his judgment to himself. At times, he understands Gabriel’s resentment for these proud and flawed creations of their Father. Humanity seems incapable of learning from its mistakes. Yet Michael has sworn never to meddle in the day-to-day running of the city. The realm of human affairs is not his place. Unlike some of his brethren, he has no desire to rule or to be seen as a deity (although with the rise of the new religion of Saviorism and his role in its origin, the latter is inevitable). Michael is the Sword, as he has always been. His concern lies in the city’s defenses, in the preparation for Gabriel’s next strike and in watching over Alex until his birthright claims him. After twenty-five years, that day has come at last. 

These thoughts nestle in the back of Michael’s mind as he spars with Furiad, his red armored adversary fighting with the passion and intensity that has made him feared among their own kind. What did Gabriel used to call him? A wild dog? It is this wildness that will be Furiad’s undoing. Michael is a general in their Father’s army because of his ability to lead and his tactical skill, neither of which Furiad can match. It is this same tactical skill that leads Michael to a calculated gamble. With one eye on Alex, he meets his human charge’s worried gaze at the same moment that he moves just slowly enough to allow Furiad to wound him in the side. He sees the look of triumph in Furiad’s red eyes, feels the sharp gust of wind as the angel takes to the skies, a portion of his blade still embedded in Michael’s side. He hears Alex yell his name as the human is freed by the 8-ball, who also takes flight but not before Alex is able to grab his handgun and kill it. Then Alex is kneeling by his side, a look of pure anguish on his face. 

“Michael! Michael! What am I supposed to do?”

Alex’s voice is distant in Michael’s ears. Something is wrong. His hand hovers over the blade in his abdomen as he cranes his neck to look at the wound. His skin is burning with an unnatural heat where the blade has pierced his flesh. _Empyrean steel_ , his mind supplies. He has made a gross mistake. Furiad has gotten hold of the ancient steel, a weapon reserved for the higher orders. This wound is fatal and Alex cannot help him. 

“Michael! What am I supposed to do?”


	2. Chapter 2

The cell was small, three feet by three feet. There was a low cot at the far end and a toilet in the corner beside a dirty sink. A single shaft of light filtered into the room from a high narrow-barred window that lined one wall of the cell. It was the only source of light in the room.

Alex rolled onto his back, his body throbbing from the kicks and punches that he absorbed in the main holding cell where he’d first been dumped. Once in the Vega Prison, his concern for Michael had briefly faded as he’d quickly had to think of a way to avoid the mandatory strip-search of new inmates. Solitary was the only solution, head-butting a guard the next course of action, crumpling to the floor as the other guards beat him the natural outcome. He welcomed the ache as he lay down on the cold concrete floor. The pain was a reminder that he’s still alive, which was more than he could say for Michael. 

The drive back to Vega had been the most nerve-wracking of Alex’s life. He’d never felt so helpless with the unconscious Archangel bleeding in the front seat. Michael was dying right before his eyes. There was no guarantee that the doctors at Vega would be able to help him. After all, what did human doctors know about angel physiology? But what other choice did he have? He had to do _something_. 

Until that drive, Michael’s mortality had never crossed his mind. The Archangel had always seemed so invincible. Undefeatable. Immortal. Some part of him knew that Michael could be injured or killed, but he’d always refused to acknowledge it. Michael was older than the world. 

Alex closed his eyes. There was nothing he could do for Michael in his cell, nothing but pray except he’s never been the praying kind. To whom would he pray? Who listened to prayers when God was no longer home?

* * * * *

It’s the first time Alex has ever been in a club. A _proper_ club. He shouldn’t be here, but Ethan insisted. Alex isn’t sure how Ethan managed it (doesn’t want to _know_ how Ethan managed it) but since this is Ethan’s birthday present, he can hardly refuse.

“C’mon,” Ethan had said, pulling him along. “It’s time to see how the other half lives.”

Opulently was the answer. The club is luxurious, the alcohol free flowing and the food! Alex didn’t think people actually ate at clubs. Weren’t clubs just about sex, drugs and rock ‘n’ roll or whatever other stories he’d heard about before the Extermination War? Then again, Vega was built on the fallen city of Las Vegas and their high-end casino hotels. Hadn’t Vegas been known then as a den of iniquity? Ironic to think that Vega now prided itself on being the bastion of civilization in the post-apocalyptic world. 

Alex tugged at the shirt he was wearing. It felt warm, even though he knew that it shouldn’t have been. The smooth fabric on his skin was unnatural. It made him uncomfortable. Black silk. It must have cost a small fortune of ration cards or med supplies. It was extravagant and wasteful but he’d put it on anyway. It was part of his birthday present. (“You have to look like you belong,” Ethan had reminded him.) He supposed he could trade it away on the black market after tonight. He’d get a good haul for it. Ethan wouldn’t be offended. He knew that his friend would do the same thing. 

Once they’d entered the club, Alex had lost Ethan in the crowd. Ethan was gregarious and outgoing. He was in his element here, even though schmoozing with the higher Vs wasn’t exactly his regular social milieu. Alex didn’t have the same personality. He and Ethan were yin and yang in that respect. Alex kept to himself and he didn’t have any friends save for Ethan. He eventually drifted to the large bar in the center of the room, pushing his way through the throng of dancing people. He felt a tug on his arm as Ethan caught up with him, and despite his friend’s pleas to join him on the dance floor, Alex declined. 

“What I need is a drink,” Alex shouted above the music. 

“Well, go get one then,” Ethan shouted back. “You’re legal now!” With that he gave Alex a clap on the shoulder and promised to look for him at the bar after a few songs.

Alex shook his head, unable to stop himself from smiling as he walked the last few steps to the circular bar. Legal. That he was. One of the major changes in Vega law from pre-Extermination days was the lowering of the legal drinking age. Eighteen remained the age of majority, but the legal age to purchase and consume alcohol had been dropped from twenty-one. Tonight Alex was legal in every sense of the word. 

_Yeah, legal enough to go to prison_ , he reminded himself as he pulled out his false ID. You had to be at least a V4 in order to get into this club and he was on the lowest rung of the ladder. Falsifying V status was considered a major crime. If either he or Ethan got busted tonight . . .

He was about to hand over his card for scanning when another card materialized beside it and was shoved into the bartender’s hand. 

“Let me get that for you,” a female voice said. 

Alex looked to his right. A blonde woman was beside him, older than him, probably in her late twenties. 

“What are you drinking?” she asked. 

Alex was too tongue-tied to speak. Nobody had ever bought him a drink before, much less a high status V. “Whatever you’re having,” he eventually got out. _Lame Lannon. Lame_ , his mind told him.

The woman flashed him a predatory smile before turning her attention to the bartender. “Two apple martinis,” she ordered. 

Alex mentally raised an eyebrow. Not what he would’ve ordered but he wasn’t about to complain. His mystery woman leaned against the bar, her body now angled towards Alex as she scrutinized him. Alex thought he might wilt under her keen blue gaze. 

“Never seen you here before,” she said at last. “First time?” 

“That obvious?” Alex said in a half-hearted attempt to make a joke. 

“Yes,” was the serious reply, followed by a sly grin. “I remember the pretty ones,” she added, leaning towards him. Alex could smell the vodka on her breath. That obviously wasn’t the first apple martini that she’d ordered.

If Alex had felt uncomfortable before, that was nothing compared to how he felt now. What did this woman want? 

“I’m Beth,” she said, holding out a hand as she introduced herself. 

Alex shook her hand awkwardly, palms sweaty. Beth didn’t seem to mind. She used the contact to lean even further into Alex’s space. 

“And you are?” Beth prodded, her knee now resting against Alex’s thigh. 

“Alex.”

“Alex,” Beth repeated. Their drinks had arrived. Beth picked up her martini and took a sip before saying, “What brings you here, first-timer?” 

Alex held the long-stemmed martini glass in his fingers but didn’t take a drink. He didn’t see any point in lying. Ethan always told him he was a crappy liar. (Ethan was right.) 

“It’s my birthday.” 

Beth laughed. “Birthday boy,” she said approvingly. “That _is_ cause for celebration.” She held up her glass in a toast and Alex mirrored the gesture.

Their glasses clinked and Alex finally took a sip of the martini. It was too sweet for his liking, but he took another sip anyway before putting the glass down. 

Beth’s hand was on his arm now and Alex was trying to calm his breathing. Beth didn’t turn him on. She made him nervous. But before she could say anything else, they were interrupted. 

“Ms. Romero,” a soldier said respectfully. 

Alex recognized the blue uniform of the Archangel Corps. He saw a flash of irritation in Beth’s eyes before she turned to acknowledge the soldier, removing her hand from Alex’s arm.

“Yes, what is it?” she asked, a little testily. 

“I apologize for the intrusion,” the soldier replied, his tone one of deference. “Your mother is looking for you. She needs to see you right away.” 

Beth sighed. “Mother calls,” she said to Alex, the sarcasm dripping from her voice. “I’ll just be a moment,” she added, standing up. “Don’t move.”

“I’ll be right here,” Alex replied, having no intention of staying put. He thought this was one lie he’d managed to pull off. 

He watched as Beth moved through the crowd, the crowd seemingly parting for her as the soldier escorted her to wherever her mother was waiting. Beth must’ve been someone important. Alex was relieved to see her go. He decided to finish his martini (no point in wasting the drink) before leaving. He didn’t want to be anywhere near the vicinity when Beth returned. 

“She’s very persistent,” another voice said to his left. “And she knows what she wants.” 

This time the voice was male. Cultured. Highborn. Terribly sexy. More intoxicating than the drink Alex had almost choked on when this new stranger first spoke. Carefully, Alex put down his drink and made sure to look straight ahead.

“Seems like it,” he agreed, thankful that his voice remained steady. 

“That’s Beth Romero,” the voice explained, its richness rolling over Alex like molasses. “The daughter of Senator Romero.” 

Alex was jolted by the information. He recognized the name, of course. Senator Romero belonged to one of the founding families of Vega, one of the sixteen wealthiest and most powerful families in the city. 

“This is Beth’s regular playing field,” the voice continued. “And she appears to have set her sights on you for tonight. You should make your escape while you can, if that is your intention.” 

“Believe me, it is,” Alex assured the stranger, but didn’t budge from his seat. Making his escape now would mean leaving this addictive voice and the person to whom it belonged. He licked his lips. “I wouldn’t want to get on her bad side though,” he said after a moment. “She’s probably not the sort of person you want to piss off.” 

“No, I wouldn’t think so,” the voice agreed. “But if you don’t see her after tonight, you’re probably safe.”

Alex didn’t have time to dwell on the implication of that particular remark because his brain was inadvisably two steps ahead and had latched onto a very bad idea. “What if I made my escape with the right person?” he suggested. “Someone she wouldn’t be able to question?” 

“And who might this person be?” 

Unless Alex was mistaken, that cultured voice sounded amused. He gripped his glass tightly and drained the last of the martini for some liquid courage. He couldn’t understand why he was putting so much faith in a voice, especially since he had no idea to whom it belonged, but there was something compelling about it. Magnetic. He felt inexplicably drawn to it and to whoever was its owner.

“Someone like you,” he said, finally turning to his left to look at the man with whom he’d been conversing. 

And he promptly nearly fell off his seat. 

“Archangel,” he said in shock and surprise. 

The Archangel, the protector of Vega, was sitting beside him, cool and inscrutable. If Alex had felt intimidated by Beth Romero, it was nothing compared to what he felt now. Everyone knew who Michael was, everyone recognized him. Alex had only seen the Archangel from afar, had never dreamed that he would get this close, much less have a conversation with him. Then he flushed when he remembered what that conversation had been about, where it was leading and how it had ended. Christ, did he actually try to _pick up_ the Archangel? He was mortified. He was about to rush into an apology, but the Archangel was already standing up. Alex inwardly grimaced. He’d probably offended the celestial being. Badly. Could he be thrown into jail for this? How would that be for a birthday present? 

“Shall we?” Michael said. 

Alex gaped at the archangel. “Shall we what?” he managed to get out. 

“Make your escape.” 

Michael said the words as a statement not a question. The authority in them brooked no argument and Alex was unconsciously standing up in reply. Michael was holding out his hand. Alex looked at it in confusion before gingerly reaching out and grasping it. The Archangel’s strong fingers closed over his (he could crush every bone in them, Alex thought wonderingly) and before he knew it, he was being tugged against Michael’s lean form, while Michael’s other arm curled about his waist. He was about to ask what the Archangel was doing but before he could do so they shot up in the air, leaving Alex’s stomach somewhere on the ground below.

The flight was brief but gut wrenching all the same. When Michael landed softly on a balcony high above the main dance floor and released him, Alex immediately gripped the railing in front of him as he tried to get his legs underneath him. 

“Some warning?” he gritted out, slowly winning his fight with nausea. 

The Archangel didn’t reply, but Alex sensed his amusement anyway. Now that he was sure that his legs weren’t about to collapse underneath him, he eased his grip on the railing and took a look around his surroundings. They were in an alcove, secluded and private, high above within the domed ceiling of the club. When Alex had first entered the club, he’d noticed the ceiling (how could he not?) but had merely thought it to be some kind of ostentatious decoration in line with the rest of the club’s extravagance. Now that he was standing in it, it appeared to be some kind of nest. Michael’s private nest. The music was a distant thrum, the beat only reaching them through the slightest vibrations in the structure. It was quieter here, bordering on peaceful, located as they were above the club’s lights. It made him feel removed from the scene below. _Is this how Michael sees us?_ he wondered. _As an observer of humankind?_

He turned around at last. The Archangel was sitting on a circular velvet sofa, one that almost encompassed the entire alcove. He looked perfectly at ease, arms stretched out on the back of the sofa and one leg elegantly crossed over the other. Alex swallowed the lump in his throat. Michael was the most desirable being he’d ever seen, but fraternizing with an angel was strictly against Vega law. It was a capital punishment, one even more severe than falsifying V-status. _Oh, what the hell_ , Alex thought as he approached the archangel. He’d broken enough laws tonight. What was one more? 

“How does anybody else get up here?” he asked to fill the silence between them. 

Michael made no move to offer him a seat or to indicate that Alex was even welcome. Alex supposed that he was – welcome, that is – otherwise why would the angel have brought him up here? There didn’t appear to be any way to get down. He was stuck up here until Michael decided otherwise. 

“They generally don’t,” Michael answered at length as Alex sat down just outside of Michael’s personal space, the archangel’s hand a hair’s breath beside his shoulder. 

“Do you clean up after yourself then?” Alex asked in his second half-hearted attempt at a joke for the evening. _Shut up before you really put your foot in it_ , he chastised himself. God, he was turning into Ethan. 

Michael didn’t even dignify his question with a reply. Instead the angel posed a question of his own. 

“Would you like a proper drink?” 

“Yeah, okay.”

The proper drink turned out to be single-malt scotch, aged a good number of years judging by the label. The Archangel had decadent taste, but Alex didn’t find that surprising. Rumors swirled around Michael. Alex suspected that a lot of them were just made up – a whole mythology was built around the Archangel – but others? Others probably contained a grain of truth that had been blown completely out of proportion. 

Alex held the glass of amber liquid in his hands. It was good to keep his hands occupied so they didn’t do anything else. “It’s good,” he said. Everything he said sounded lame to his own ears, but it was a lot harder to make conversation now that he knew to whom he was speaking. 

“Is it really your birthday?” 

Alex started at the question. He wondered how long Michael had been sitting beside him at the bar. Or perhaps the Archangel had extra keen senses. That was a rumor too, but Alex thought that it was more than likely.

“Yes,” he replied. “I’m legal,” he added, almost defensively. Drinking alcohol was one of the few laws he _wasn’t_ breaking tonight. 

“Congratulations.”

Was the Archangel mocking him? When Alex glanced over his shoulder to check, he inadvertently met Michael’s gaze. There was a half-smile on Michael’s lips and a softness about his eyes that spoke of sincerity and fondness. It made Alex feel at ease and he leaned back against the velvet sofa, near enough that Michael could brush his shoulder with his fingertips. 

He had no fucking clue what to talk about. 

Luckily, Michael had taken on the burden of making conversation. 

“Are you here by yourself?” 

Alex wished that the Archangel asked better questions, or at least questions that didn’t make him feel so damn uncomfortable.

He also wished that he was a better liar. 

“No,” he said. “I’m here with a friend. But he’s really just a friend,” he said after a moment, wondering why he felt the need to justify himself. Michael wouldn’t care whom he was with, no matter how Alex would like to imagine otherwise. It was just too easy to interpret Michael’s question in another way. 

“Are you?” he asked in return. “Here by yourself?” _Shut up, Lannon!_ his internal voice screamed. That had to be the dumbest thing he’d said yet and the list seemed to grow every time he spoke. 

“Yes,” Michael answered simply. 

There was another lull in their conversation and Alex took the opportunity to have a sip of his scotch. The liquid was smooth and he savored the burn in his throat. This was something he could get used to. 

“Now that you’re legal,” Michael was saying. “What are your plans?” 

“Plans?” Alex repeated distantly. What the hell was the angel talking about? 

“Reaching the age of majority opens doors for you.” 

“What do you mean?” 

“I mean, what do you want to do with your life?”

Alex looked at the angel incredulously. _This_ was not the direction he’d expected their conversation to go. He wasn’t prepared to talk about ‘big life issues.’ He was a V1. He’d been an orphan for years. He lived on the streets. He participated in illegal trafficking. He was a smuggler. A criminal. What else could he do with his life? But Michael couldn’t possibly know these things. How could he? 

“I don’t know,” Alex replied and it was mostly true. The V-system was so stratified. It didn’t encourage social mobility or even interaction among the castes. What could he do? 

“You could join the military,” Michael answered for him. “The Archangel Corps.” 

Alex couldn’t help but laugh. “Become a soldier?” he said, grinning at his companion. 

Michael did not smile back. In fact, his expression seemed to grow even more serious if that were possible. “You would serve the city and learn valuable skills,” the archangel continued. “Becoming a soldier would raise your status.” 

Alex almost dropped his glass. “How would you know about my status?” he asked sharply. 

Michael held up his hand in a placating gesture. “I did not mean to upset you,” he said. 

Alex put his glass down on the table, wiping his hands on his pants before standing up. The Archangel knew that he didn’t belong here, that he’d falsified his ID to get inside the club. He was in trouble. 

“Alex –” 

“How do you know my _name_?”

“I overheard you introduce yourself to Beth Romero,” Michael explained calmly. “Please, sit down. I’m not going to report you. If your false ID is discovered, then you and your friend are my guests.” 

Alex took a deep breath. Why would the Archangel lie to him? Then again, why would the Archangel even care what happened to him? He sat back down, his body language now closed as he eyed the angel warily. “What do you want?” he asked. Nothing came for free in Vega. 

“I do not want anything from you,” Michael answered, looking genuinely puzzled by the question.

“Then why do you care what I do with my life?” Alex asked, his voice unintentionally laced with sarcasm. It was an automatic self-defense mechanism. 

Michael considered the question with far more gravity than Alex thought it warranted. “Because,” the Archangel said slowly, “you are very special.” 

At that, Alex burst out laughing. “Special?” he repeated. “I’m nobody. I’m _less_ than nobody.” 

“That’s not true,” Michael said so sternly that Alex almost believed him. He could feel his resolve weakening when pitted against the Archangel’s conviction and authority. 

“Do you?” Alex hesitated. “Do you know something about me?” His voice sounded small and uncertain to his ears. 

“Join the Archangel Corps,” was Michael’s response. “There is a selection process, but the basic training will be invaluable to you.” 

Alex could read between the lines. It was common knowledge that Michael handpicked the members of his own Corps, but even though he was encouraging Alex to join the military, Alex would have to go through the regular training and selection. Michael was not guaranteeing him a spot. Alex would have to earn it. Alex wouldn’t have had it any other way. The reply was also a clever evasive tactic since Michael hadn’t answered his question at all. 

“Why do you care what happens to me?” Alex found himself asking again. 

“Because –” and suddenly the angel was close, very close, right up in Alex’s personal space. “You are important to me.” 

Before Alex could even process those words, Michael leaned in and kissed him. Alex’s response was instinctual. He fell into the kiss, his body yearning to be nearer to the other. He felt a hand on the side of his neck, tilting his head to give Michael better access. Then Michael’s tongue slipped inside his mouth and Alex welcomed it eagerly. None of this made any sense to him, but he didn’t care. All he was aware of was the heat of Michael’s body, of Michael’s taste and his scent – windswept and fresh, with the slight tang of salty sea air – and the promise that lay in his kiss.

* * * * *

Alex awoke with a start. He was drenched in sweat and his body was burning where the tattoos were shifting on his skin. His cell was in complete darkness. Not even one of the strobing prison lights illuminated his room.

He’d just had the most vivid dream, except . . . except it hadn’t felt like a dream at all. Alex remembered that night, the night of his eighteenth birthday when Ethan had somehow gotten them false IDs to enter an exclusive club. He even remembered Beth Romero, the Senator’s daughter. What he didn’t remember was meeting Michael there, talking with him, _kissing _him. Most of that night was a hazy blur. He remembered Ethan teasing him, calling him a lightweight for being unable to hold his liquor now that he was legal. Alex had assumed that he’d simply passed out at some point. But he’d woken up the following morning with the strangest idea to join the Archangel Corps. He’d brought it up with Ethan who hadn’t taken him seriously. They’d never discussed joining the military.__

“What? You want to be one of the good guys now?” Ethan had said disbelievingly. 

“I don’t think being part of the military really makes us one of the good guys,” Alex had pointed out. 

“Well, great!” Ethan had thrown his hands up in exasperation. “Then you just want us to uphold the system instead of bucking it?”

In the end, it was the promise of three square meals a day, a place to sleep and proper medical care that won Ethan over. All that and the idea of a challenge. Ethan _loved_ challenges. For them, it was gonna be the Archangel Corps or bust.

Neither Alex nor Ethan ever questioned why Alex had woken up the day after his eighteenth birthday with a burning desire to join the Archangel Corps. Now Alex understood that the tattoos had revealed to him what had laid at the heart of his mysterious decision. What he’d experienced wasn’t a dream or a vision. It was a memory, one that Michael had somehow repressed. 

_You were never alone._

Alex lay on the cold concrete floor and wondered how often Michael had watched him from afar, guiding his decisions without his knowledge. He didn’t know how to feel about that. How many of his actions had truly come from himself and how many had been influenced by Michael in some way? Everything in his life had been turned upside down in a matter of days. Everything he thought he knew, he hadn’t really known at all. But from all this uncertainty, Alex felt a renewed surge of hope. Michael had _kissed_ him and when he traced his finger over his own lips, he could almost feel the ghost of that kiss, could remember the Archangel’s taste. He would have that again.

Alex gazed into the blackness of his cell and although an inner voice told him it was futile, he prayed that the Archangel would live.


	3. Chapter 3

It was Claire who visited him the next morning. Alex wasn’t sure how Claire had found out that he’d returned to the city, but before he could even ask she’d pushed him against the wall and kissed him in relief. Alex returned her kiss even though there was no passion behind it. He still loved her. There was no doubt about that, but his love no longer burned with the same kind of fire. (He suspected that fire had been transferred to someone else, that maybe it had been with that person all along.) It was hard to believe that he’d almost convinced her to leave Vega with him on the night of the Jubilee – that fateful night that had changed his life forever. 

As soon as the kiss ended, the first words out of his mouth were, “How’s Michael?” 

Claire looked like she’d been about to say something else, but her lips pursed together in a tight frown at his question and she shook her head. “Not good,” she answered soberly. “The doctors couldn’t do much for him. They didn’t know how to stop the bleeding. Senator Thorn had him transferred to the Stratosphere. I don’t know anything beyond that.” 

“But he’s not?” Alex couldn’t bring himself to finish the question. A sudden fear had seized him. 

Claire shook her head again, reaching up to touch the side of his face where a bruise was blooming. “No,” she assured him. “Not yet. What happened to you?” she asked softly. 

Alex sighed, his thoughts still focused on Michael. “Nothing I didn’t deserve,” he answered. “I had to keep the tattoos covered. Getting thrown into solitary was the only way to do that.” 

“You’re on my security detail,” Claire reproached him. “You’re my personal guard. You should’ve asked for me.” When Alex didn’t respond, Claire continued, the admonition in her voice only growing stronger. “I wouldn’t have even known you were back in the city if it wasn’t for Bixby. She saw you bring Michael to the infirmary last night.” 

“I’m sorry, Claire,” Alex cut in. “Everything just happened so quickly.” He grasped her hand and gave it a gentle squeeze. “I _need_ to see Michael,” he told her. 

Claire held his gaze for a long moment and Alex wondered if she could read it in his eyes, read how something had shifted between them. But she only squeezed his hand in return and nodded. “Of course,” she said. “I’ll talk to my father and have you released.” 

“Thank you, Claire,” Alex said, relief washing over him. He leaned in and gave her a quick kiss. 

Claire’s expression looked strained. “You should go to him soon,” she said. “We don’t know how much longer he has.”

* * * * *

Despite Claire’s foreboding words, Alex found Michael sleeping peacefully when he entered the massive domed chamber that the Archangel had made his home. Becca Thorn was curled up beside him and an unexpected pang of jealousy hit Alex to see her there. Michael’s sexual escapades were one of the worst kept secrets in the Corps (and the Archangel’s stamina has been the source of many jokes), but Alex immediately recognized that Becca Thorn was different. It pained him to think that Michael might have a real relationship with her, that she might know him better than anyone else. _That should be you_ , a voice told him.

Becca stirred at his entrance. She sat up, the briefest flash of embarrassment on her face that Alex had caught her sharing the Archangel’s bed. But that blush was immediately replaced by the authority and entitlement that she wielded from her status as a Senator and the Second Consul to the Lord of the City. She slipped out of bed elegantly, smoothing down her rumpled clothes as she did so. It was evident that she’d spent the night there. 

Alex stood at attention. He was merely a soldier compared to the V6 status of Senator Thorn, but they both knew that he was more than that as well. Senator Thorn had been present in the bunker when Jeep had been murdered and the tattoos had transferred from Jeep to himself. She had heard Michael’s proclamation that Alex was the baby that he had saved all those years ago. She had witnessed Michael kneel before him, an act that Alex could still not quite fathom. Michael had _kneeled_ before him.

Now Michael lay in his bed, eyes closed and his breathing even. The color had returned to him, but he was still pale by Alex’s golden kissed skin. Still, it was a marked improvement from the deathly pallor that had fallen over the angel during their drive back to Vega. 

“Is he?” Alex began to say and then stopped. He wasn’t sure how to finish the question. 

“He’ll be fine,” Senator Thorn answered, walking around the circular bed to where Alex stood on the opposite side. “I don’t know how,” she admitted. “It wasn’t our medicine that saved him. But the wound has closed and he’s just sleeping.” 

“Has he woken up since I brought him in?” 

“No,” Becca replied. “I’ll leave you to watch over him,” she added. “Will you let me know when he wakes up?” 

“Of course, Senator,” Alex assured her.

The Senator nodded her thanks and then left the room. 

When Alex was finally alone with Michael, he could feel the events of the previous day and night catching up with him. His concern for Michael had prevented him from sleeping well the night before, and that turbulent dream had left him feeling even more anxious, filled with questions that he couldn’t ask an unconscious angel. He was tempted to take over Becca Thorn’s place on the bed but he didn’t think Michael would appreciate his presumptuousness when the Archangel finally woke up. So Alex pulled one of the ornate chairs in the room over to Michael’s bedside and dropped heavily into it. He was tired and it didn’t take long for him to fall into a fitful sleep.

* * * * *

The next time Alex awoke, it wasn’t on a cold concrete floor or in the chair that he remembered falling asleep in. It was in a bed with luxurious silk sheets and soft feather pillows. It took him another few seconds to realize that it was Michael’s bed and that he’d been stripped of his boots, socks and jacket. He was wearing his gray cotton shirt and a pair of olive pants. His next realization was that he was alone in that enormous bed. Michael was nowhere to be seen. Alex actually took that to be a good sign, but he was also irritated at the Archangel. Michael had a way of ruining his plans. He sat up, rubbing the sleep from his eyes.

“Michael?” he called out. When there was no reply, he tried again. “Michael, are you here?” 

“I’m here, Alex.” 

The relief Alex felt at hearing the angel’s voice was instantaneous. He swung his legs over the side of the bed, not bothering with his shoes and socks as he stood up. Barefoot, he followed the direction of Michael’s voice. He found the Archangel standing by one of the open windows. Without any hesitation, Alex walked right up to him and ran his fingers over the patch of skin where Furiad’s blade had been embedded. 

“There’s not even a scar,” he marveled, not thinking it strange that he was touching the Archangel so intimately. For his part, Michael didn’t flinch, didn’t react at all to Alex’s touch except to casually glance down at his now-healed wound. 

“How is this possible?” Alex asked. 

“I can think of several answers,” Michael said, his gaze returning to the city below him. It was clear that he wasn’t about to elaborate and Alex held back an exasperated sigh, his left hand now resting on Michael’s bare hip. (Michael was only wearing a pair of thin silk sleep pants and Alex idly wondered if Becca Thorn had stripped and dressed him in this way. Who else would have dared?) This was so typical of the Archangel. Secrecy might as well have been his middle name. 

But Alex hadn’t come here to fight. Standing this close to Michael he could appreciate the Archangel’s profile and the memory of his eighteenth birthday rose to the fore. “You kissed me,” he stated without any explanation or context. 

The comment earned him a piercing look from the Archangel. Alex was sure Michael would deny it or perhaps feign ignorance, but instead Michael said simply, “You remember.” 

“The tattoos,” Alex said, by way of explanation. 

Michael considered this for a moment and then nodded, accepting the half-worded explanation. “I apologize,” he said, his gaze once more drifting back to the city. “It was a lapse of judgment.” 

Alex almost laughed and he couldn’t help grinning as he replied, “I was hardly fighting you off.” 

“You were young,” Michael stated, this time not looking at Alex as he spoke. 

Alex could sense the Archangel’s passive resistance and he intended to do something about that. With his hand still on Michael’s hip, he moved in front of the Archangel, intentionally blocking his view of the city and forcing Michael to look at him. 

“What about now?” he said, allowing the implication of the question to hang in the air between them. It was an invitation. Surely Michael realized that. 

“Now things are different,” Michael said, his voice cool and his expression impassive. But underneath all that Alex thought he detected the faintest tremor and the possibility, no matter how remote, that Michael’s façade might crack spurred him on. 

“Things _are_ different,” he agreed, placing his other hand on Michael’s hip and stepping towards the angel so that there was no longer any space between their lower bodies. He could feel the heat of Michael’s skin through both their clothes. “I understand now,” he said very slowly, allowing the words to sink in. “I was never alone.” 

His admission had the desired effect and Michael looked at him. Alex couldn’t read what he saw in the depths of the angel’s eyes. He felt like he was drowning in that brown gaze, but then he’s anchored once more by the realization that Michael’s hand was warm against his neck, cradling it in a way Michael had done long ago in a darkened club when he’d kissed him. 

“You are a temptation,” Michael told him softly. “A test I must not fail.” 

“You won’t fail,” Alex replied with more conviction than he’d ever felt in his life. “This? What we share? What we _could_ share?” he amended. “It will only make us stronger.” 

Michael was shaking his head. “There is still so much that you don’t know.” 

“Then you will teach me,” Alex insisted. He wasn’t about to let Michael get the upper hand as the Archangel so often did. Before the other could protest, Alex leaned up and kissed him. 

Michael was as still as a statue. He didn’t pull away but neither did he encourage the kiss. Alex remained undeterred. The Archangel’s lips were soft and when his tongue darted out to swipe the seam between them, he knew the moment Michael’s resolve broke. The Archangel opened his mouth, granting Alex entrance and Alex deepened the kiss. Alex pressed himself tightly against the angel, relishing the feel of Michael’s tongue moving against his own. This wasn’t a kiss for dominance as many of his interactions with Michael had been of late. It was a kiss between equals, a promise made and fulfilled from years ago. He regretted the need to draw breath and when the kiss ended, his arms were wrapped tightly around the Archangel’s waist as he rested his head on Michael’s shoulder. The hand that had cradled the back of his neck was now resting on his back, a warm and comforting weight there. 

Alex sighed. “We should have done that sooner,” he murmured. 

“If I had known that this would make you more cooperative, perhaps I would have entertained it.” 

“You’re the one who suppressed my memory of the club,” Alex shot back, the fact that the Archangel had just made a joke not quite registering yet. He looked up. “Are there other memories? Ones that you’ve hidden from me?” 

Michael was tracing the side of his face with his fingertips, delicately, as though Alex were precious. “No,” he said. 

“Just your lapse in judgment then?” Alex couldn’t help but tease. 

“Yes.” 

A grin broke out at the angel’s deadpan response. People thought Michael didn’t have a sense of humor. They were wrong. 

“Should we move to the bed?” he asked. “I mean, can you . . .” His gaze inadvertently dropped to where Michael had been injured. 

“I am completely healed.” 

“The bed then?” 

Michael was shaking his head, but Alex didn’t take it to be a rejection. There was a ghost of a smile on the angel’s lips and a softness around his eyes. It spoke of affection. 

“The eagerness of youth,” Michael stated. 

“I’m not eighteen anymore,” Alex reminded him, reluctantly releasing the angel and stepping away from him. He reached down and grasped Michael’s hand, grateful when Michael’s fingers curled around his own. 

“No, but you are but a child compared to me.” 

Alex looked up. He often forgot that Michael was older than the world itself. “I am also a man,” he asserted. “And I know what I want.” 

“Yes, you do,” Michael agreed. 

Alex took the other’s answer to be permission and he tugged Michael towards the enormous bed that dominated the Archangel’s chamber. He sat down on what could be described as the foot of the bed, briefly releasing Michael’s hand in order to pull his gray shirt over his head. The Archangel towered over him. But when Michael made no move to touch him, Alex reached out again, fingers grazing the drawstring that held up Michael’s silk pants. He was about to pull them down but his wrist was suddenly caught in a strong grip. He looked up warily, expecting to see censure or disapproval in Michael’s eyes. Instead, his heart skipped a beat at the unabashed desire in Michael’s gaze.

“Move back,” the Archangel said. 

_Finally_ , Alex thought. That was one order he was more than willing to obey. He should’ve known that Michael would be bossy in bed. He scooted backwards until he was at the center of the bed, cushioned amongst the soft pillows in which he’d first woken up. It occurred to him very belatedly that Michael must have been the one who’d stripped and put him in bed in the first place. He felt a thrill go through him as the Archangel crawled over him, eventually settling over him. The weight was unfamiliar but comfortable, and he’d unconsciously spread his legs to make room for Michael. 

“Have you done this before?” Michael asked, pressing a kiss to the side of Alex’s neck. 

“I haven’t been a virgin since I was sixteen,” Alex answered, amusement and desire coursing through him. 

“Have you laid with a man before?” Michael clarified, pulling back so he could look into Alex’s eyes. 

Alex recalled the uncomfortable questions Michael had asked at the club on his eighteenth birthday. The Archangel hadn’t changed. “No,” he admitted without any trace of embarrassment. “I know you’ll take care of me,” he added softly. 

Michael nodded imperceptibly, his expression thoughtful. “We’ll go slow,” he stated. 

Alex almost barked out a laugh. “I’m not some china doll,” he protested. 

“We’ll go slow,” Michael repeated. 

He was moving off of Alex now and Alex was about to pull him back until he realized that Michael was also moving down his body, the Archangel’s fingers undoing the button on his pants before pulling the zipper down. Alex instinctively lifted his hips, helping Michael take his pants off. This was more like it. His boxers soon followed and then he was lying naked before Michael’s appraising gaze. The Archangel was still wearing his silk sleep pants and Alex reached once more for the drawstring only to have his hand swatted away. 

“That’s not fair,” Alex told him seriously. 

But Michael surged forward and kissed him again, spreading his body over Alex’s as he kissed him deeply and Alex’s response was immediate. It was almost as though his body were hardwired into Michael’s, the other’s touch a kind of siren song that he was powerless against. He’d first felt this magnetic pull that night at the club when his body had yearned for Michael. That same longing was back, intensified now almost to the point of pain. It was a good kind of pain. 

“Michael,” he gasped, when they broke for air. “What’s happening?” 

Michael only hummed in response, his hand on Alex’s leaking cock. Alex felt the pad of the angel’s thumb smear the precum over his cock to act as a kind of lubricant. He was rapidly hardening under Michael’s touch and when Michael finally fisted him, he immediately thrust into the warm tunnel of Michael’s hand. His body felt as though it were aflame, and dimly he was aware of the tattoos shifting on his skin. The tattoos were responding to Michael’s touch. The sensory overload was becoming too much, but neither was he about to tell Michael to stop. He needed release. 

He rolled both of them over to the side and Michael allowed the action. They were now facing each other on the bed and Alex pressed tightly against the angel, hooking his left leg over Michael’s waist as Michael’s hand continued to work his cock. He leaned in for another kiss, grabbing the back of Michael’s neck, fingers curling painfully into the short tufts of hair that he’d managed to grasp. He continued to thrust into Michael’s hand, the white heat building behind his eyes signaling that he was close to release. His thrusts were becoming erratic, but Michael’s pace remained even. 

“Michael,” he gasped again. “Too much,” he managed to get out, eyes screwed shut as his breathing came out in harsh gasps. 

“Come.” 

The command wrenched his release from him and Alex exploded in Michael’s hand, his body seizing as his orgasm washed over him in waves. His cry was swallowed by Michael’s kiss and the angel milked him dry until Alex lay boneless and spent in his arms. 

“Fuck,” Alex muttered into the crook of the Archangel’s neck, one hand resting on top of Michael’s heart. “That was just a handjob. We’re going slow.” He felt the gentle rock of the angel’s quiet laughter, followed by the angel’s voice. 

“Sleep, Alex.” 

Not for the first time, Alex wondered if Michael had cast some sort of spell on him as he was lulled to sleep by the steady beating of the Archangel’s heart.

* * * * *

The second time Alex awoke in Michael’s bed, the sun was setting and the Archangel was still in bed with him. Michael had cleaned them up and Alex was curled comfortably into the Archangel’s side.

“What happens now?” 

Michael answered his question with another one. 

“Are you hungry?” 

Alex realized that he was. Starved, in fact. He hadn’t eaten since his breakfast ration at the prison and that had been hours ago. He told Michael this. 

“Then we eat,” Michael responded. It was clear that the angel was about to get up and Alex put a hand on his chest to stop him. 

“Wait,” he said. “I meant, what happens to us now?” 

“You need to start training,” Michael said eventually. 

“Training to be the Chosen One,” Alex repeated, unable to stop the sarcasm from lacing his voice. 

“Yes.” 

The damn Archangel could be so literal sometimes. Alex sighed, keeping that familiar exasperation at bay. “And this?” he prodded, gesturing between them. 

“This just is.” 

Alex looked at the angel dumbfounded. He wondered if Becca Thorn found Michael half as infuriating as he did. _This just is_. What the hell did that even _mean_? But Michael seemed to sense his dissatisfaction because he leaned over and placed his hand on the back of Alex’s neck. Alex was growing used to the gesture. No one had ever touched him there. That would belong to Michael alone. 

“I do not belittle what has happened between us,” the Archangel said seriously. “But I am first and foremost your guide and your teacher, if you will accept me. If you are willing to learn.” 

“I am,” Alex said earnestly. “I _do_ accept you as my teacher.” He hesitated. “That doesn’t mean I’m ready,” he admitted. “ _I_ don’t think I’m ready. But I’m willing to learn.” 

“That is all that is needed. The rest will come.” 

Alex didn’t say anything. It was something, but it still wasn’t enough. He wanted more. It was greedy, but he wanted Michael. Before he could say this, the Archangel spoke again. 

“Gabriel believes that your destiny lies with him. That you will join forces and bring about the destruction of humankind.” 

Alex began to laugh. “That’s ridiculous,” he said. He abruptly stopped laughing when he saw the gravity of Michael’s expression. “You don’t believe that, do you?” 

Michael remained silent. 

“Michael? I would never betray you.”

The hand on Alex’s nape ran down his shoulder and his arm, until it rested on Alex’s waist. “I know,” Michael assured him. “But every choice you make impacts all of us, for good or for ill. Your path is not set.” 

Alex grimaced. “You’re basically saying I could fuck this up,” he pointed out. 

“I have faith in you, Alex. You will make the right decisions for all of us.” 

“No pressure,” Alex muttered. 

Michael smiled. It was a sight so rare (Had he _ever_ seen Michael smile before? _Genuinely_ smile?) that Alex was left speechless. 

“Shall we have dinner?” the Archangel suggested, reminding Alex how late it was. In essence, he’d slept the day away in Michael’s bed.

This time when Michael moved to get up, Alex didn’t stop him. He got up as well, looking for his discarded clothes and beginning to dress. 

“So,” he said conversationally as he put on his gray shirt. “Does this mean I get to move up here, seeing as I’m under your protection and all? Not to mention the practicality of it,” he continued, pulling up his boxers and then his pants. “Communal showers ain’t exactly great for keeping those tattoos hidden.” 

Michael gave him another one of those appraising looks. (How had the Archangel dressed so quickly? Alex wondered.) 

“You may shower here,” Michael replied. 

“And the other thing?” Alex prodded. 

“I’ve already requested that your belongings be transferred,” Michael informed him. “They should be here when we return.” Michael held out his hand. “Shall we?” 

Alex grinned. It was like that night at the club, only now he didn’t feel any confusion or uncertainty and he grasped Michael’s hand firmly. Too late he realized where Michael was leading them – to the edge of one of the large open windows. 

“Uh, is it too late to suggest the elevator?” Alex said, even as Michael was pulling him against the angel’s lean form, securely wrapping an arm about Alex’s waist. 

Alex already knew the answer to his own question and he prepared himself by hugging the Archangel around the waist. He swallowed his trepidation (Michael would never let him _fall_ ) and then they were in the air, the angel’s magnificent wings spread out behind them, the wind in his hair and Michael's scent, fresh with a tang of sea salt, surrounding him. 

 

 **Fin**.

**Author's Note:**

>  _Dominion_ belongs to Syfy and Vaun Wilmott. No offense is intended, no profit is being made.


End file.
